Making A Night Of It
by Pellegrina
Summary: As the Bard said: "The course of true love never did run smooth..." Direct continuation of my story "A Mockingbird In A Fir Tree" and can't be understood on its own. Friendship turns into Jisbon romance. Some sexual content. The characters will appear OOC without knowledge of the previous parts of this story arc.
1. Chapter 1

**Sequel to my fics "Food For Thought" and "A Mockingbird In A Fir Tree". **

**It starts immediately, where the last story stopped and won't make much sense without knowledge of the previous stories. This applies at least to "A Mockingbird In A Fir Tree".  
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**This is the third part of a bigger story arc, I'm currently working on.  
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**"Making A Night Of It" will turn into Jane/Lisbon romance in later chapters with explicit sexual content.**

**Mentions of child abuse.**

**It's rather fluffy at time, angsty at other… and maybe a bit OOC, though I try...**

**AU after "Blood Feud".  
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**I really appreciate reviews. They tell me, whether I'm going in the right direction or not. I'm open to both praise and constructive critisism.  
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**I'm neither Bruno Heller, nor William Shakespeare – a pity really, but the truth. Therefore, I do not own their works or characters either. My use of their works however is an expression of my deepest respect.  
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**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

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_**The course of true love never did run smooth – William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act1, Scene 2.**_

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**Making a night of it**

_To unpathed waters, undreamed shores. - William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, Act 4, Scene 4._

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Once inside the Citroën Teresa said, "Well, that was an interesting evening, Jane. Strange, but interesting. You have some very nice friends there. I hope you know that."

He started the engine before he answered fondly, "I sure do, Lisbon. I know how to pick'em. Just look at my present company, if you need any more confirmation."

She shook her head in mock exasperation. "Just drive me home now, hotshot. I'm tired and maybe a tiny bit tipsy as well. My bed sounds like the place to be right now."

"You could be there a lot sooner, if you'd just let me drive the way I usually do, you know," he teased.

"Jaaaaane..." she drawled his name in her usual way, when slightly exasperated at him. "Don't you dare. Can't you behave for once and just do things the way you're supposed to?"

"I was just making a suggestion, Lisbon. No reason to get all worked up, dear. Your wish is my command. I'll crawl at a snail's pace, don't worry. Anything to make you happy." He grinned.

He switched on the radio and found a station playing relaxing classical music. On the way back to the steering wheel he rested his hand on her thigh for a moment and gave it a gently squeeze. "Thanks for coming with me tonight. I hope, it was really alright with you and didn't make you too uncomfortable. I think Andy and Sheila like you."

"Don't worry. Everything's fine and I like them, too," she said and put her hand over his stroking the back of it lightly. She realized that she was really tipsy at that point, because she doubted she would have allowed herself to make such an intimate gesture otherwise. But she'd had the intense urge to touch and comfort him the whole evening and it was very liberating to be able to finally act on it. He didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he intertwined their fingers and kept his hand in her lap like that for the rest of the drive while she continued her gentle petting.

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_What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit! – William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 5, Scene 1._

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When they arrived at the parking lot outside of Lisbon's appartment complex Teresa got out of the car immediately and went ahead for her door. A moment later she realized with confusion that Jane wasn't by her side or even behind her for that matter. She turned around and saw him still sitting in his car watching her. She frowned and returned to his side, where she opened the door impatiently. "I told you, I'm tired. What the hell are you still doing in that car?"

"Oh, I was just waiting for you to get inside savely before I, you know, drove off again. Just making sure you get home alright," he explained nonchalantly.

"Jaaaane... What's that supposed to mean? Where did you intend to go to in the middle of the night?" she asked angrily.

"Lisbon, please. Let's be honest here. We both know, that I won't catch much sleep tonight. There's no reason, why you should lose yours as well because of it." He cast her a reassuring look. "I'll just go to headquarters, maybe do something productive like figuring out Lorelei's whereabouts or, I don't know, take a look at some of the cold cases again. Doesn't really matter. I'll be fine. You just go inside and sleep. You said you were tired and you do look exhausted."

"Have YOU looked in a mirror lately? No way I'll allow you to be alone tonight in that stupid man-cave of yours. You already spent the whole of last night up solving our case. You will get out of that damn car now and get your ass inside my appartment or help me god, I'll force you to at gunpoint if necessary." She was truly pissed at his obvious disregard for his own well-being, and in her slightly intoxicated state she allowed herself to express her irritation much more clearly than usual.

"You drive a hard bargain there, Lisbon. But let's stay reasonable here. What's the point in both of us having a miserable night?" He tried to reason with her, using a calm, almost mesmeric voice.

"Don't give me that crap, Patrick. Get out of that car right now," she demanded in a tone normally reserved for suspects. For emphasis she opened her purse as if to get out her gun.

He complied, holding his hands up in capitulation. "Sheesh, Lisbon, calm down. No need to turn to violence. And please, keep that gun where it is. You know how I hate those things. Maybe you should sign up for more of those anger management classes. I just wanted you to get a good night's sleep, for heaven's sake. And considering how grumpy you are, you sure need it."

"That's a lie and you know it. You just want to scram because you're afraid of the emotional backlash from the nightmares you expect to have tonight. And you don't want me to witness, what you consider a weakness. But let's not talk about it outside here, where anyone could listen. Let's get inside. And don't you dare try and make a break for it. I still have my purse open, mister. You go ahead. I hope, you have your keys ready. I'll bring up the rear – less chance for you to try anything." Her look was stubborn and full of determination.

"Whatever you want, Agent. You're the one with the gun," he conceded and they made their way into Lisbon's place.

"Now you'll go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. Afterwards you'll come into my bedroom. You got that?" she ordered.

"I get you loud and clear, Lisbon. But don't you think you're going a bit overboard here? And what do you want me in your bedroom for?" he asked baffled.

She glared at him. "I don't trust you further than I can throw you and we both know how far that is. I'll not let you out of my sight tonight. You'll sleep in my bed. It's easily big enough for two. That way you won't be able to dash away the second I fall asleep. I'm a very light sleeper, so chances are slim that you'll get past me," she explained with determination. "Now, off with you – don't forget to brush your teeth."

He rolled his eyes and made a resigned face. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be a good boy and floss as well if that's what you want. But Lisbon, do you really think it approbriate for me to share your bed? Doesn't sound very professional to me, I'm just saying…" He cast her a suggestive look, trying to deter her from her plans that way.

"This stopped being professional a long time ago, Patrick. This isn't about Agent Lisbon and her consultant. This is about Teresa making sure her best friend isn't alone after a tough time this evening." Her eyes flashed stubbornness. "We'll get through this night together, whether you like it or not. And aside from that we have the next two days off anyway, so I don't mind to lose some sleep. I can always take a nap in the afternoon." Her gaze turned warmer, when she added, "Patrick, I care about you. You better get used to it."

"I could always scram, while you're in the bathroom, you know? Or do you intend to invite me to watch you doing your ablutions as well now in the name of friendship?" he asked spitefully, not ready to give up his fight.

"If you think for a second, you'll deter me from my plan by being crass – think again. I know your tricks. You're trying to make me angry, so I'll throw you out. But you won't succeed. So just forget it and spare us both the trouble, alright?" she dared him.

He looked rather defeated and made his way to the bathroom. She waited in her bedroom for him and about ten minutes later he came back, wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt - his usual attire for the night, when they weren't sleeping out of town during a case. In a hotel-setting he seemed to prefer actual pjs. It warmed her heart, that he was comfortable enough in her immediate presence to forego the more formal sleepwear. Nevertheless she didn't fully trust him not to make a break for it, while she got ready for bed. So she ordered him to sit down on the bed on the side furthest from the door and before he really knew, what was happening, she'd handcuffed him to the head board.

"Teresa, really. That's completely unnecessary. Please stop this nonsense now. I promise, I won't go anywhere," he pleaded. He couldn't believe, she'd actually done that.

"You where the one who started it, Patrick. You threatened to scram while I was in the bathroom. Now live with the consequences. I'll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime make yourself comfortable," she told him in a determined tone.

"Haha, Lisbon, very funny. Come on now. You've proven your point. You're in charge here. I get it. But those things are painful. Do you really want to hurt me?" he whined, trying to appeal to her sympathy.

Completely unimpressed she went to the door and in leaving she said, "You're such a drama-queen, Jane. Don't be such a wussy. I'm sure you'll survive a few more minutes. It'll teach you not to provoke me again."

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**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Angst alert..._  
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_Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt – William Shakespeare, Measure For Measure, Act 1, Scene 4_

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And with that she left him in his predicament. He of course started to search her bedstand drawer for something to use to pick the lock immediately. But all he found on his side of the bed was a bible, a chocolate-bar, and a hair tie – absolutely nothing usefull for his task with other words. He didn't believe in praying and divine miracles after all.

He tried to reach over to the other side of the bed where he knew Lisbon usually slept. So he hoped the drawer there would contain more suitable objects. But he had to admit defeat. The bed was too broad and the handcuff too tight to leave him with much wiggle room. Well, obviously he would stay where he was for the time being.

He cursed under his breath. Now that he knew that he was screwed, he didn't have anything else to do but confront the inevitable: he would have to spend the night by Teresa's side. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. But tonight he knew, he certainly wouldn't have his usual nightmares about red Smiley-faces and his wife's and child's mutilated bodies. Those dreams were horrible enough of course. But their content was somehow familiar and well-known to his companion as well. That made it acceptable for her to comfort him at times.

Topics from his childhood however were a well-guarded secret on his part. He'd never divulged any information about it to Lisbon, and he'd rather, it stayed that way. But now she was privy to at least some bits and pieces which he felt a lot of shame about. She absolutely didn't need to know more. And he didn't want her to see him weak and upset about some stupid nightmares on top of the other emabarrassment he'd already endured this evening. He felt pathetic enough as it was. She knew about Alex now and she'd seen him nearly losing his calm.

So what to do? He could either just lie beside her and try to stay awake right from the start, which would leave him with a lot of time to think – something he would've preferred to avoid tonight. Or he could risk falling asleep with the certain knowledge that some pretty ugly nightmares lay in wait for him. He felt cornered and defenseless and he didn't like it at all. That he was restraint didn't help matters at all. Ever since a particularly dark time in his life he hated that feeling.

A real win-win-situation, he told himself sarcastically. Why, oh why had Lisbon to be so stubborn tonight of all nights? He could very well handle things on his own. He had done so for most of his life after all. He didn't need a keeper And most of all he didn't want her to see him like this. He didn't want her to think him pathetic, didn't want her pity. Besides, she'd learnt too much about him already tonight. How much more would it take, until she lost respect of him completely? She already considered him a wimp – he knew that. He couldn't sink much lower, could he? He couldn't risk that, he lov-liked her too much for that.

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He didn't realize just how agitated he'd become. He was too deeply lost in his own mind, picturing Teresa laughing at him, calling him the most pitiful loser in existence. He was actually on his way into a full-blown anxiety-attack by the time Lisbon came back into the room.

"Oh shit, Patrick, no. Calm down please. I'll get you out of those handcuffs immediately. Please, you have to breathe slowly." She rushed over to him, key already in hands and freed him. But the man didn't even seem to realize he was free to move again. He was shaking a bit, his breathing was too fast, and he was staring ahead unseeingly, completely lost in his mind.

"Oh god, Patrick. I'm so sorry. Please, you're really scaring me. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, breathe slowly, just breathe slowly," she pleaded with him, a few silent tears running down her face without her even realizing it.

She didn't know what else to do. She took his face between her hands, lifting it up to her, so she could take in his eyes. He looked so sad and lost, like his whole world had come crashing down. She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs - not too gently though - to get his attention. But when he still didn't react, she couldn't think of anything else to do but slap him in the face. She was at her wit's end and he really needed to slow down his breathing.

He flinched violently and she felt truly awful. But he seemed to come out of his stupor and took a deep, shuddering, but fortunately slow breath. "What happened? Did you just slap me? And why are you crying, Lisbon? Did I do something wrong?" he asked in bewilderment.

At those words Teresa broke down completely. She sobbed openly, and she couldn't say,whether it was from relief or from all the anguish and concern she'd felt all evening. Certainly, the alcohol she'd consumed also played a part, because normally she was a very controlled person. All she knew was that now that she'd started, she couldn't stop. And suddenly she found herself in a tight embrace. Jane held her head gently to his chest and stroked her hair in a soothing pattern while he whispered calming words. "It's alright, Teresa, I've got you. I'll always have you, okay? Hush, everything will be fine. Just calm down. I have you."

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_Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 3, Scene 2._

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Slowly, she relaxed against him. Her sobs grew lower until she finally managed to compose herself while Patrick kept up his soothing care. When she felt ready to face him she sat up. She was ashamed of her own behavior. She had intended to be strong for him, but instead he'd been the one to comfort her. She'd never cried in front of her consultant and she'd sure as hell never planned to do so either. She didn't dare to look him in the eyes and a blush spread on her face.

But he wouldn't have any of it. He touched her chin softly with his forefinger and forced her gently to look up at him. "Lisbon, please. Don't hide from me. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure, there was a perfectly good reason for this and I'm not going to judge you."

She laughed a bit hysterically at that. "Oh, Jane. That's rich. Just listen to yourself. You just managed to worry yourself into an outright anxiety-attack at the mere thought of me helping you through a tough night. Maybe you should take your own advice. God, we are quite the pair, aren't we?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation Patrick couldn't help but grin at her last words. But his face darkened again after a moment. "What do you mean, an anxiety-attack? I don't do anxiety-attacks, Lisbon."

"Yeah, right. Keep fooling yourself. When I came back from the bathroom, you were hyperventilating and you were so far away in your mind, I had to slap you to get a reaction out of you. I was so worried, I was about to call the paramedics to be honest. So don't you try and tell me that that wasn't a panic-attack," she replied in irritation.

"Wow, really? So that's what it feels like. Interesting. I've never had one before, you know."

He tried to make light of the situation, because in reality he was absolutely disgusted with his obvious complete loss of control – and in front of another person to boot. He could practically hear his father's sneering voice taunting him for his weakness, calling him a useless mark. And in his head Patrick had to agree with him. His conduct had been downright pathetic. During the whole evening in fact. He'd acted like an over-emotional fool. Completely out of character. First he'd nearly lost control when Joe provoked him. Normally, he was far above such emotional displays. How could he have let himself be needled by such an idiot? He had almost given in to his anger. And then he'd gotten all sentimental while talking to Andy, and now he'd actually panicked at the thought of some measly nightmares. Could he bring himself any lower? How absolutely pathetic and disgusting. And he could very well imagine what Alex Jane would've done to him after such a display, and he sure as hell would have deserved it. How could he ever look Lisbon in the eyes again without drowning in shame?

Suddenly his train of thought was interrupted by a pair of arms coming around his back. "Patrick, no, please. How can you even think something like that? You could never ever deserve to be beaten, and most certainly not for feeling anxious about having horrible nightmares."

"Ehm, Teresa, please tell me you've started to read minds now. Or did I just say that all out loud?" he inquired in obvious agitation. "Because if I did, I'm farther gone than I thought."

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**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: First angsty and then very fluffy stuff ahead. Pent-up emotions breaking free can do that to you...**

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_Love sought is good, but given unsought is better – William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act 3, Scene 1_

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Lisbon continued to hold him, while answering, "I'm afraid, I'm not a psychic, Patrick. No such thing, after all. And since that means, I can't read minds, and since I heard you loud and clear, I have to conclude, that you in fact vocalized your thoughts. But I'm glad you did actually, because it gives me the chance to dissuade you from that idiotic notion you seem to have about deserving punishment."

"And this from the woman, who just slapped me," he huffed, trying to free himself from her embrace.

She cringed a little at the accusation, because she really felt a bit guilty about the hard smack, she'd been forced to give him, especially since he had flinched so violently in its aftermath. But she knew, what he was trying to do now, and she would not allow him to shove her away.

She loosened her hold just enough to be able to look at his face, when she said, "Don't, Patrick. Don't try to alienate me, just because what I'm saying makes you uncomfortable. You, Patrick Jane, are NOT weak. You're probably the STRONGEST person I know. And I'll be damned, if I allow you to continue with that bloody self-loathing-trip, you've been on for years now. You ARE a good man and I CARE about you because of that. And I will bloody well CARE enough about you for the both of us, since YOU don't seem to be capable of granting yourself even the slightest hint of self-respect."

"No, Lisbon. YOU will listen to ME now. My mind is the only thing I've going for me, and if even control of that deserts me, I AM FINISHED! You got that, Lisbon, I'm FINISHED. There's nothing left of me to CARE for, Lisbon. NOT a BLOODY thing. I NEED to be in control of my mental faculties. It's all I have left, Lisbon, it is ALL I have left. IT IS ALL I AM!"

He had been shouting the last part, and it was so totally out of character for the man, that Teresa was nearly shell-shocked. She'd known, that he prided himself on his superior intelligence. Now she realized, it wasn't so much pride as the last vestiges of self-preservation he owned. And all at once she knew, just how close this man was to the end of his tether and on the verge of losing himself or break down completely. And it scared the hell out of her.

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_I would not wish any companion in the world but you – William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 1._

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Though in all honesty she should have seen this coming a long time ago. During the last years he'd become darker and darker, his schemes more and more elaborate, while his secretiveness had seemed to grow in synchrony. When he'd vanished to go to Vegas, he'd immolated the last of his self-worth: he'd given up the only thing, he had called family at the time, and he had even surrendered their friendship, just to orchestrate a final stand against his nemesis and serve the ultimate penance for all the sins, he thought he had committed. And then he'd even been forced to - in his eyes at least, as far as she could see - whore himself to Red John's mistress, after having honored his wife's memory for over nine years.

He might maintain the illusion, that Lorelei had only been a stepping stone. And in a way she believed him, when he said so. But the fact remained, that this had cost him dearly. In her opinion the prize had been much too high. He'd sacrificed his last integrity as a person. And though men might be less emotional about sex, she didn't believe him for a second when he said, it hadn't meant anything to him at all. It hadn't in the sense, that he'd fallen for that tart of course. Patrick Jane wasn't a sentimental fool after all. But now after the new revelations she'd gotten about him tonight, she realized that it had been his final act of total self-abasement.

All he felt for himself now was disgust. The only thing he thought worthy of any consideration was his intellect – the very power with which he fought his nemesis. And threatened with the notion that his mental control was slipping, he was about to disintegrate before her very eyes. It truly scared her, but she made an oath to herself, that she would hold him together with all her might. They just had to get through this night. In the light of day things would brighten up and be put into perspective. He'd have time to sort himself out. But right now it seemed like a tidal wave of emotion was engulfing them and she wasn't sure how to stop it.

She tightened her hold on him an whispered, "That's not true, Patrick. You are much, much more than your brain power, as formidable as it might be. I care for the whole of you, heart, body, and mind. For you, Patrick, not just some little part of you. I'm not holding you, because you're the best detective I know and you close cases. I'm holding you, because of your big heart, your humor, and your warmth, your silly little acts of friendship, that make me smile on a bad day, your ability to challenge my grid locked opinions, your goofy quirks, and all those small things you do for your friends all the time, though you don't want them to see it. I'm holding you, because you're my best friend, because I trust you - well, most of the time - and because I couldn't think of anyone in this world I would rather hold, Patrick Jane."

Burying her face in his chest and pulling him even closer, she added almost silently, "I hold you because I love you."

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**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: There'll be some explicit sexual content in this chapter. And fluff and angst...  
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_A heart to love, and in that heart, Courage, to make's love known – William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 3_

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She could feel him sucking in a shuddering breath at her last words. She could hear his heart racing against his chest. All she could hope for was, that her last words, though heart-felt, but still spoken in the spur of the moment, didn't chase him away in fright. And then he started to shake.

At first she thought he'd gone into some kind of shock again, but then she realized, that he was crying without a sound. She could feel his tears trickle down on her head, but she didn't mind. She just held on tight and prayed, it would be enough. And then slowly his arms came up around her and he returned her embrace – tentative at first but with more and more strength. He lend forward, so his face was buried in her hair. He kissed her gently on her head and murmured, "I love you too, Teresa Lisbon. Please, never leave me. I need you so. And I love you so much and I won't take it back this time, I promise."

She turned her head up so she could look at him. Her heart went out to him, when she saw his desperate expression. But what really got to her were his eyes. They weren't all sad, though the tears still leaking from them once in a while would indicate something else. But no, it wasn't sadness and desperation she saw. It was something entirely different and it filled her with such a sense of hope and happiness, that her face split into a beaming smile. Because what she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, was nothing but the purest love and affection.

He was completely unguarded at the moment, of that she was sure. He was open and vulnerable for once and she was sure, he'd only been like this very few times in his life. She felt honored to witness this monumental event. Honored by the trust he had in her.

And with that thought in mind she took his face in her hands, wiped away his tears, closed the gap between them, and did, what she'd wanted to do for ages: she kissed him with all the love and affection she felt for him.

After a moment of shocked surprise Patrick caught onto what was happening and he returned the kiss. He was very hesitant at first, almost shy. But when she intensified it, moved her hands into his curls, and started to ruffle them tenderly, he seemed to take courage. He deepend the kiss even further with sudden urgency. Like a starving man he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, while one of his hands caressed her back. His other hand searched for her neck and took a gentle hold there. He took complete control of the kiss from that point on and she let him, because she liked what he was doing very much and because she figured, he need it.

His tongue had sought out her mouth and did wicked things there. She could taste him, and it was so very new but so familiar at the same time. He tasted just like she'd always wanted him to taste, like she had imagined him to taste – a hint of tea and something fruity. But at the same time it was completely different and just perfectly Patrick. And it seemed like he couldn't get enough of her taste either.

He only granted them short moments to catch a breath, before he continued his exploration, and she felt so aroused she was sure, she wouldn't have any problems to come just from being kissed by Patrick Jane. She could feel it everywhere in her body. It was like every nerve in her system was connected with her mouth and with his as well. And she realized, that she obviously had never really been in love before, because while she had always enjoyed kissing, nothing had ever felt even close to this. It was like an epiphany, like a whole new world opening up, and even after the emotional roller-coaster this night had been so far, if this was the result, she didn't regret a single moment of it.

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_Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind - William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 1, Scene 1._

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She wanted to get even closer to him, wanted to feel more of him, wanted to be joined with him, wanted to be surrounded by him, and most of all she wanted this to never stop. And when Patrick's tongue started to mimic what she would have liked other body-parts of him to do to her, she actually came apart in his arms, moaning her release into his mouth.

This seemed to excite him even more. He pushed her to her back, covered her with his body, and started to touch her seemingly everywhere he could reach ,while he continued to kiss her urgently. She came down a bit from her high after a moment, just enough to enable her to participate more actively again. She wanted, no needed to touch his skin, so she lifted his t-shirt and fondled his flanks, relishing in the smoothness she encountered there. Slowly she moved her hands to his back, when he suddenly cringed and stopped the kiss. In a move that was as quick as a flash and came totally unexpected for her, he sat up and caught her hands in a grip so tight it almost hurt her.

With a desperate look on his face he murmured frantically, "Please, you can't touch my back, please. No, no, no."

She was very alarmed now. What the hell had happened? Just seconds ago he'd practically eaten her and she could feel his arousal against her stomach. And then all of a sudden he sat before her, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

She wanted to calm him, but she didn't understand much of what was going on in his mind right now. She needed answers from him in order to help him. But she was afraid, he would withdraw from her and could already see the shutters come down in his eyes. So she brought her left hand up to his right cheek in a gentle caress. "Patrick, please talk to me. What's the matter? Are you alright? Is this too much for you? Did I hurt you? Please don't shut me out. I want to understand. Okay?"

She wasn't sure, she'd reached him until he took a deep breath and leaned into her palm.

He collected himself and glanced at her a bit warily. "Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you. Guess I'm quite messed up tonight, huh?" He sounded apologetic and embarrassed.

She continued caressing his cheek and gave him an encouraging nod to continue. He sighed and looked down, but decided to go on, "You didn't do anything wrong, Teresa, well, not intentionally at least. But you startled me and I think, I am or I wasn't ready to let you see, I mean feel, ah hell." He avoided her eyes in shame.

"Patrick, you're not making any sense here. What didn't you want me to see?" Teresa was worried and confused, and all she wanted, was to hold and comfort the distraught man before her. But she still didn't understand, what was wrong with him.

Jane sat up straighter and seemed to prepare to get up from the bed in a slight panic. "It's nothing, it doesn't matter. I'm fine, it's okay. It's just... I have to leave now."

But Teresa held him back forcefully, desperate to get answers and not willing to let this go. If she didn't get him to speak now, she probably never would. "No, oh no, you don't. You don't just up and leave. I want to get to the bottom of this, Jane. I understand if all of this got to be a bit too much. But you will not take the coward's way out of this."

She tried to lock eyes with him, but only succeeded for a short moment. All she saw in them was pain and shame. Her voice turned warm, but insistent, when she continued, "I told you I love you and I mean it. I'll be right here by your side, no matter what, but you will talk to me, mister. Do you hear me? I won't let you walk out on me, because you're scared. I'm scared, too. But I won't surrender to my fears, because I know, that it is worth the risk. No, you, Patrick. YOU are worth the risk. Please take a risk as well, for me, for us. You won't regret it. I love you and I've got you, no matter what."

He seemed to deflate visibly in front of her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm such a coward."

But then he appeared to have come to a decision. He would reveal to her, what had distressed him so much, even at the risk of losing her respect. Keeping his silence and scramming would obviously lead to that anyway. He looked down in his lap. "It's actually rather ridiculous. I shouldn't have caused such a scene. I mean, you pretty much know already anyway I guess. It's just... I mean... Only two women have ever… And one of them... She... I mean... She didn't count at all," he stuttered.

He looked up. "I'm still not making much sense, do I?" he asked her a moment later. She shook her head no.

"Well, I guess there's nothing left to do but…"

And with that he turned his back to her and with shaking hands he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

* * *

**TBC**

PS: Unfortunately, I don't have any other way of reaching my dear reviewer "jw", so I have to do it this way: I really appreciate your comments and hints. If you've checked, I've followed your pointers and changed a few things in the previous chapters (and this one as well... fewer exclamation points ;-) I totally agree with your assessment - I just got carried away, I guess..). If you have an account, I would very much like for you to PM me. Maybe you'd even be willing to act as some kind of beta?


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: There'll be some explicit sexual content in this chapter (but nothing too graphic, I think). Still, rating is a definite M for this one.  
**

* * *

_Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move his aides, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love – William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2._

* * *

She did everything she could to avoid an appalled gasp to leave her mouth at the ghastly sight, that greeted her: his lower back was marred by angry scars, which seemed to reach right down to his short-covered buttocks.

She should have known of course. She should have realized, it would have to be something like this. After what she'd learnt this evening, she should have put two and two together, when he had freaked out earlier. Sometimes she really doubted her own abilities as a detective. But then again maybe she'd been too close to the case. Never a good thing in her book – present company being the best example for the truth in that statement.

Now however this wasn't important at all. The only thing that counted, was the trembling man in front of her, the man she loved with all her heart.

Tentatively she reached out with her hand and touched his back gently. He flinched away, but she didn't budge, and slowly so as not to startle him again she began to stroke his marred skin in an even, calming way. And caress by caress he started to relax a bit more and the tension left his body.

"I'll always be there for you, Patrick, didn't I tell you? Now it seems, I've really got your back." She rejoiced at his small snicker at her bad pun.

"Turn around again, Patrick. I want to hold you properly. And I want to steal a kiss or two as well. Not that your backside isn't a lovely place to kiss too, but…" And to emphasize her point she leant forward and pressed some feather light kisses to the small of his back to reassure him, that she wasn't repulsed by his scars.

He let her continue for a moment, before he turned around and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "I love you, Teresa," he whispered into her ear.

And then their mouths found each other again in a passionate kiss. She loved to feel the naked skin of his bare chest against her roaming hands but decided that she wanted to feel his skin against her own. So she moved back slightly, just enough to make room for her hands to grab the hem of her sleep-shirt. In a fluid movement only breaking their kiss for a second, she pulled it over her head.

The sensation of skin on skin was overwhelming – for both of them it seemed. Patrick moaned loudly into her mouth, when her bare breasts touched his chest. One of his hands found its way to one of her breasts, petting it gently, before he squeezed the nipple lightly between his thumb and his forefinger. She arched into him. His lips left her mouth to pepper the rest of her face with kisses. Then he moved his head down to her throat, alternating between kissing and gently nipping her skin all the way down. She groaned with arousal. When he had reached her collarbone, he stopped for a moment to take a good look at her for the first time.

She blushed, feeling a little insecure at his scrutiny, but he smiled lovingly and whispered, "You are so beautiful, Teresa. I could just sit here and look at you all night. But I'd much rather do this..."

And then he pushed her back on the bed and started to downright worship her body with his hands, lips, tongue, and teeth. She'd never felt so aroused and treasured before in her life, and even if he hadn't said the words already tonight, she would have understood by his actions only, that he truly loved her. What he did to her was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. He seemed to find every single erogenous spot on her body and commit it to memory. He returned to those, that had elicited the best reactions at erratic intervals, obviously timed perfectly to drive her absolutely crazy.

In a short moment of coherence – not that there were many – she pondered the possibility of her body just having become a part of his memory-palace. And she realized, that being in bed with a mentalist meant to be played like an instrument. He seemed to know exactly, what to do and when to do it and was bringing her to heights, she'd not previously known existed. She was a moaning puddle of mush in his capable hands, and she didn't ever want to go without this again.

He'd long since taken off her panties and extended his explorations to her nether regions, and she wasn't sure how many orgasms he'd already treated her to when he asked her, "Teresa, would it be alright, if I made love to you now? I would really like to be inside of you. But it's okay, if you don't want to. I'm happy to just continue with what I'm doing."

She brought his head up to her own face, so she could look him in the eyes. With a voice slightly hoarse from moaning and even screaming on occasion, she said, "Oh Patrick, to me it felt like you haven't done anything but making love to me for the better part of an hour. But nothing would make me happier than for you to fill me completely now."

* * *

_Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love – William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, Act 3, Scene 5._

* * *

He drew a shuddering breath in anticipation, when she lifted the waistband of his boxers. A groan escaped his mouth, when she started to stroke his painfully aroused penis.

"Sheesh, woman. If you really meant that last statement, you better stop, what you're doing or this will be over, before it's even started. Do you have any idea,what your body does to me? A lesser man would have succumbed to the inevitable a long time ago, I'll have you know." His voice was husky.

She enjoyed the power, she seemed to have over him at that moment after being at his mercy for so long. She couldn't resist to give his manhood a little squeeze for good measure, just to hear him groan without inhibition again. She grinned evilly, but then she reached out and opened the drawer of her bedstand and fumbled for a little square package, she knew should be in there somewhere.

Her wriggling movements challenged his control even more. This gave her the opportunity to watch - for the first time in person and up close - how that famous, so frequently mentioned bio-feedback of his actually worked. He closed his eyes and took full control of his breathing. It slowed down, his breaths becoming deeper at the same time. It nearly sounded like he was asleep. But he clearly wasn't, because during the whole exercise he had still been lying on top of her with his head hovering over her face, and he'd continued to caress her breasts.

Obviously in much better control again he opened his eyes and smiled warmly at his lover. "Did you find, what you were looking for, my dear? I truly hope so, because I'm not sure, I can restrain myself much longer and I'm sure as hell not up for a drive to the next drugstore."

She showed him the little package in triumph. He grinned happily and took it out of her hand. He propped himself up and got rid of his boxers, opened the wrapping impatiently, and proceeded to slip the condom over his erection, while she watched with rapt attention.

He was such a beautiful man to her. Just the right amount of muscles, maybe a bit too lean after his Vegas-debacle, but she could always fatten him up, no hair on his chest and only a very light dust of blond hair on the rest of his body. Strong legs, a butt, she'd always found mouth-watering even with his pants on. And, as she could see now, a nice penis of average length, but to her great delight, of distinctly above average girth – at least in its current condition. What more could a girl wish for? Oh yes. She hadn't even mentioned his beautiful hands, gorgeous eyes, and irresistible curls yet. Or his kissable mouth, for that matter. How she could have ever fooled herself into thinking, that she was only interested in him as a friend, was beyond her right now.

"You look good enough to eat," she told him boldly.

He smiled and answered, "Maybe another time... But at the moment all I want to do is make you mine."

And that's exactly what he did. And when he finally came inside of her, he moaned her name, his face raptured in bliss. She was sure, she had never seen a more beautiful sight in her life. And it felt like she was falling in love with him once again there and then, while her body surrendered to another and final wave of ecstasy.

* * *

Afterwards they lay beside each other panting. A few minutes later Patrick propped himself up and turned to leave the bed. She cast a horror-stricken look at him, thinking he had decided to run now and feeling utterly helpless and unable to stop him.

But he leant back in her direction, smiled warmly, and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I'm just going to the bathroom, silly. I want to get rid of this." With that he pointed to his crotch, which was still covered by an obviously used condom. "I'll be back in a few, I promise. And furthermore I know you still have that gun of yours close by – your bedstand drawer, I presume? No need to take unneccessary risks with an armed cop." In a seductive whisper he added, "Though I'm not sure, you're in any condition to use it. You look delectably worn out, Agent Lisbon."

Sporting a self-satisfied grin he got up and left her bedroom.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine - William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3, Scene 5._

* * *

She could follow the sound of his steps. He was making his way to the bathroom and she dearly hoped, he would keep his word. She heard the toilet flush and the bath-door open again. That's when she realized, she was holding her breath. And as she had feared his steps indicated, that he was making his way down the stairs and not back to her. She didn't know, whether she should be mad or sad.

But then she heard some clinking sounds from her kitchen and soon afterwards his footfall suggested, that he was coming up the stairs again. Relieved she let out the breath, she'd been holding. The bedroom door had been left ajar and now he opened it with one of his feet, because his hands were occupied carrying two glasses and a pitcher filled with water.

"Figured we could both use some fluids after our work out," he explained, setting everything down on her bedstand.

"You thought, I would leave, didn't you?" He smiled knowingly at her.

She nodded in confirmation. No point lying. He would know immediately anyway.

He sat down on the edge of the bed closest to her and caressed her arm lightly. "Well, I can't blame you. I haven't given you much cause to trust me in that respect, I guess. Please be patient with me. I'm trying, okay?"

He leant forward and kissed her gently on her lips, before he fixed her a glass of water and handed it to her.

She propped herself up, smiling warmly at him and gulped down the water.

"That was a splendid idea, Patrick. I didn't realize, just how parched I am. Could you be a darling and pour me another one?"

He complied, fixing a drink for himself as well. He clinked his glass lightly to hers: "Cheers, Teresa, for new beginnings. If that is, what you want of course."

He looked a bit insecure and questioning at her, his right hand still cautiously caressing her arm.

* * *

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. – William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116._

* * *

That's when she suddenly realized, that his left hand, in which he was holding his glass, lacked an item, she'd been used to seeing there for over eight years. "Patrick, where's your wedding band?" she inquired, instead of answering his question.

"Oh, it is, where it should be, I suppose," he said evasively.

"No, it most certainly isn't, Patrick," she insisted.

"It most certainly IS, Teresa," he countered with conviction. "It's been situated on the night table over there for approximately an hour and a half now, if you must know. No big deal, okay? It felt like the right thing to do. Don't feel obliged to anything by it, Teresa."

She couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief: "Only you, Patrick Jane, only you could carry out probably one of the grandest gestures available to you and call it no big deal..."

She sat up a bit more, took his glass from him, and put it back on her bedstand. Then she took his left hand into hers and guided it to her lips, where she pressed a kiss on the now empty spot.

"But before we talk more about this, I'd really like for you to come back into bed. I just had the most mind-blowing sex of my life and - belief it or not – I actually like to cuddle afterwards. So please move your delectable ass under the covers and hold me."

"You find my ass delectable?" he inquired smugly. "In that case I'll obey. Besides I'm rather amenable to cuddling myself, so I wouldn't be too opposed to your order, I mean your subtle suggestion."

He said the last part all the while doing as she had asked. He lay down on his back, drawing her close so she was lying on her side half on top of him with her head nestled under his chin, one arm across his chest, and one leg tucked between his. One of his arms was holding her tight to him, the hand of the other was stroking her back lazily.

* * *

_O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away. – William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen Of Verona, Act 3, Scene 3._

* * *

"Better?" he asked, after a little while had past in silence.

He was still a bit anxious about her reaction regarding his wedding band and hoped, he hadn't done anything to jeopardize whatever it was, they were having. He took the fact, that she'd asked him to snuggle with her – in it self a very pleasant surprise because he'd actually not been sure whether she was the cuddly type which HE was - as a positive sign. Still, his insecurity lingered and her continued silence was slightly disconcerting. That was the reason, why he had broken it.

"Oh yes, you make a rather comfy pillow," she replied calmly.

"Not to sound impatient here, Teresa, but this pillow would actually like to talk – pun totally intended by the way. Though I expect this won't be your normal pillow-talk. Where do you want to go from here?" he asked, uncertainty clearly audible.

She propped herself up a bit so she could look into his eyes. One hand went up to his cheek, which she started to caress with her thumb. His expression was slightly guarded. He was obviously preparing himself for whatever verdict she would decide. She hurt for his sake, when she realized, how scared he was of rejection. He'd laid himself open before her, which was completely unexpected, because it was such an unusual thing for him to do. Normally he was a master of deflection. He was aloof, unflappable, controlled, restrained, and cautious, always trying to give away as little as possible about himself and his feelings.

She knew him well enough to recognize, when something really irked him. Mostly, he didn't show it so much in his body language but rather through his actions. When someone peeved him during an interview for example, his questions tended to turn nasty. But though he delivered them with an ice-cold voice, his facial expression usually remained unaltered, meaning neutral. He could ask the most outrageous things sounding like he was discussing the weather. Tonight however, lying beneath her he was open and exuded a raw vulnerability. It touched her deeply, that he dared to hand her his heart like that.

His anxiety was completely unfounded of course. And she was sure, that on any other day he would have reasoned that out immediately. But obviously tonight a lot of things were different. He seemed to need further affirmation of her commitment, though her declaration of love should have pretty much cleared things up for him.

On the other hand by shedding his wedding ring he had given her the most visible sign possible of his own intentions: at some point tonight he had made the monumental decision to finally move on and to do so with her. And there was absolutely nothing in the world she wanted more than being with him permanently.

She knew, she had issues with trust and commitment, and that a relationship with Patrick Jane wouldn't be easy. On the contrary she expected a whole bunch of problems in her immediate future, because in all honesty they were both damaged people. She had her own childhood traumas and permanent scars – though they weren't as horribly visible as Patrick's. At least her father hadn't set out to hurt her brothers and her with a clear intention to mark them permanently. He'd turned violent, when he was drunk and his feelings of sadness and mourning had overwhelmed him. He'd caused them pain, when he couldn't handle his own pain. She didn't want to defend him, because what he'd done was still very, very wrong. But she'd known, that her dad had truly loved his children, even though in the end, when he'd taken his own life, the feelings of emotional pain had been stronger than the love he had for his family.

Ever since he'd committed suicide, she'd had deep issues concerning fear of loss. First her mother had died, then her father had left too. And to be honest, Patrick could very well do likewise. He wasn't the most stable presence one could think of after all. His whole Vegas-plan had shown that clearly enough.

Still she really wanted to take this chance, even if it would be hard and painful at times and she might feel like punching him on a regular basis. Now that she knew, where much of his immature, reckless, and sometimes even dark behavior came from, she sensed, that she could learn to be more accepting of it. Considering her newfound insights into Alex Jane's educational methods and complete lack of decency, the very fact that Patrick possessed something like a moral code and ethics at all showed a strength of character, that she admired.

Now he seemed to want to commit to this relationship and she wanted the very same thing. All there was left to do was to spell it out for him in a manner, that would dispel his doubts. Though she knew, he was in a slightly sensitive state tonight, she couldn't restrain herself from teasing him a bit, well knowing that on a normal day he would have done exactly the same. Furthermore she had her own insecurities after all and wasn't ready to affix an outright label to what they were having or rather, what she wanted them to have. A bit of understatementwas the way to go, she decided.

So she said in a neutral voice, "Well, Jane, let's put it like this: I'm very glad, that you are not a permanent employee of the CBI."

* * *

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author note: I'm happy to announce that I've found a beta. Her nickname on this site is firstdown. I'm sure, you'll recognize her excellent work already in this chapter. I want to thank her very much for her input. Should there be any mistakes left, they are all mine, of course.  
**

**This is the final chapter of this story. I'll probably start to post the sequel some time later next week.  
**

* * *

_I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you – William Shakespeare, Othello, Act 3, Scene 3_

* * *

She regretted her jest the moment she uttered it, when she saw the pain, that suddenly clouded his eyes. He was literally shattering before her. But what he did next was even harder to witness: it looked as if he flipped a switch in his mind and suddenly there was absolutely no emotion visible on his face anymore and he looked for all the world as if nothing had happened at all. She'd never seen such a frightening display of renunciation before. She'd obviously underestimated the magnitude of his insecurity, because under normal circumstances he would have caught up on the real meaning behind her words at once.

"Oh god, Patrick, no. What the hell do you think I mean right now? You look like I just smashed you," she exclaimed.

"No, no, it's alright. I told you, you shouldn't feel obligated to anything. No problem, really. I just hoped that maybe..." He took a deep breath before continuing, "But it's perfectly alright. I know, I could never be good enough for you. You deserve much better than a damaged, obsessed fraud like me. Intellectually I know that, Lisbon. I just got carried away a bit, heat of the moment, I guess. Sorry for being so presumptuous. I got ahead of myself. Seems like I'm a little over-emotional tonight. Just forget about it. It's fine," he rambled, trying and failing miserably to sound nonchalant.

He continued in this vein, "I will go and ask Bertram to terminate my involvement with the CBI first thing on Monday. He might want me to fulfill my contract, but it's only a week until the end of the month anyway, so I'll just take the last days off and be out of your hair by Tuesday evening, no harm done. I'm sure, it'll be better that way, no hard feelings."

He had turned his head to the side to avoid looking at her and since she was still lying on top of him, she could feel the tension in his whole body, though she could see, that he made every possible effort to exercise iron control.

"Patrick, stop." She took hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. "You got me all wrong, you idiot. I can't believe you would really, truly think for a second, that I would actually reject you. I told you, several times in fact, that I LOVE YOU." She paused, searching his eyes. "Damn it. What do you think that means? Do you think, I'm in the habit of spouting declarations like that without meaning them? That I would use you for a night of sex, just to chuck you out of your job and my life? What kind of person do you take me for?" she huffed.

He looked at her sadly. "It's not you, Teresa, it's me. It was terribly presumptuous of me to expose you to the pressure of that whole wedding band rubbish." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "I didn't mean to scare you and I know it was much too soon to ask for such a deep commitment. I didn't even mean it like that. It just felt so wrong to be intimate with you wearing that ring." His eyes seemed distant again. "But I understand, that it was too significant a gesture at this point in our whatever-you-would-call-this. Why the hell would you want to saddle yourself long-term with a walking disaster like me? I don't expect you to do that, just because we spent a night together, really."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You don't get it, do you? You're not normally that dense. So, in order to make things absolutely clear once and for all, I'll spell it out to you: I love you, Patrick Jane, and I want to be with you in a hopefully permanent relationship."

She paused to let that sink in and then rushed on. "I'm elated you took off your wedding band. Not just because it shows me how deep your feelings for me are, but because it indicates that you are finally ready to move on with your life. Nothing, absolutely nothing could make me happier than that. And lastly, what I tried to tell you with my statement about your status with the CBI - and I must say I'm still baffled you didn't figure it out but misunderstood it like that - is, that I'm very happy you are not an official part of the payroll. Because according to CBI-regulations paragraph 7, subsection 3b, sexual relations are only prohibited between CBI-agents and other permanent staff. No addendum exists about annoying, conceited, cocky consultants being precluded from engaging in wild hot monkey-sex with senior agents." From her position half on top of him she was able to punctuate each of those last words with gentle pokes to his chest.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't intend to flaunt our relationship at work. But even if people did find out and might not like it, no one could do anything against it." She smoothed her palm down his chest now, hoping to soothe him. "And I'm ready to face the music should this get out, but I ask you not to mention it to anyone at the CBI for the time being. So Patrick, was that plain enough?"

She actually knew the answer already. She'd looked into his eyes during her whole speech and they'd revealed all the information she needed. She understood she'd reached him after the first three sentences, when his face had turned from blank to bliss and the tension in his body had slowly disappeared in the wake of it.

By the time she'd uttered the final line he was grinning like a loon: "You want to have wild hot monkey-sex with me, Agent Lisbon?"

"Why doesn't it surprise me that that is the phrase you would remember?" She smiled warmly at him.

He pulled her down into a kiss, but one that wasn't meant to start anything sexual. It conveyed his love, his happiness, and his acceptance of the mutual consent they'd reached. It was warm, gentle, and tender. His hands had found their way into her hair and stroked it lazily.

He ended the kiss after a minute or two. "I love you so much, Teresa, and I'm very happy you feel the same and that you're ready to take a chance on me." He continued to run his fingers through her hair, occasionally dropping his hand to lightly stroke the sensitive skin of her neck. "We'll make this work. I'm sure of it because I WANT it to work and you know how stubborn I can be – you as well, for that matter. And thank heaven there is a very good chance I won't be THAT obtuse all the time…"

She just smiled and nestled her head under his chin again to recapture the comfy position she'd been in earlier, one arm across Patrick's chest, their legs intertwined.

He reached out to the bedstand, switched off the light, and readjusted the comforter. They both caressed each other in a soothing, almost soporific manner.

The day and night had taken a toll on them; both were beyond exhausted. Their eyes closed, their breathing evened out, and sleep slowly took over their bodies.

* * *

_Good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end – William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 2, Scene 3._

* * *

**The End – to be continued in "Whatever floats your boat"**


End file.
